After a lot of thought, I have decided to write about having breast cancer. Mine has been a relatively minor case (“Level Zero” or “Stage Zero” in a measurement system where the higher the number, the more advanced the cancer). I have not wanted to talk about it because I did not want any more fuss than needed. However, now that I have finished surgery and radiation, it feels like not talking about it makes it scarier and more important. I know so many who have died from cancer, and others who are bravely seeking healing with much more advanced cases. My father, Wade Dickinson, had cancer five times. I am deeply grateful for my “Level Zero” circumstances and for the support of my beloved husband John and family and friends during this challenging experience. I feel blessed to to be surrounded by a caring and loving community who have generously advised, commiserated, and celebrated with me during this long process. I am also blessed to have good health insurance for this expensive treatment. The estimated cost for the surgery alone was $112,124.
The kind of cancer I had is called DCIS – or Ductal carcinoma in situ, sometimes described as pre-cancerous or a non-invasive cancerous lesion. The DCIS was in only one breast. The first sign of trouble turned up in a routine mammogram a year ago. There were discussions and rounds of diagnostic tests by the Stanford Women’s Cancer Center. All of that ended up with my having a Lumpectomy in early January 2023, followed by ten radiation treatments.
Something that surprised me about this process was that unlike every other medical experience I have had, cancer seems more of a lifestyle than a disease. During my treatment, there seemed an unstated assumption that cancer was all there was to my life. For example, nurses would repeatedly schedule appointments without consulting me, assuming that I would be available whenever they had an opening. When I said I had a graduate school class to attend, or was teaching a class, or going to work, they were surprised. This seems to be an indication either that most people have worse cases than mine, or maybe they have less to do. Similarly, there was pressure for me to get tattoos (three small blue dots in several places on my torso) to make radiation alignment easier. I pushed back because I have sensitive skin and have no idea how it would respond to tattoo ink, and it seemed inappropriate to make permanent marks on my body for a two week treatment. Again, the nurses were surprised. On 15 March 2023, when I graduated at the end of my radiation treatments, I got to ring a brass bell and the nurses and technicians gave me a diploma and ovation – and a “mybluedots” pin even though I had them mark my torso with ink and tape rather than getting tattoos.
I am still tired and in a little pain from the radiation treatments, and am waiting for radiation burn to appear at the treatment area. I will start taking Tamoxifen (selective estrogen receptor modulator) in a few weeks. I will also continue to check in with the Stanford Women’s Cancer Center nurses and doctors, probably for the rest of my life.
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